


The A Team

by your_starless_eyes



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Angst and Tragedy, Boys Kissing, Character Death, Cold Weather, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Heavy Angst, Homelessness, Hurt No Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Not Happy, Oh My God, Ouch, POV Phil Lester, Sad Dan Howell, Sad Phil Lester, Snow, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 05:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_starless_eyes/pseuds/your_starless_eyes
Summary: Drug addiction was the one road Dan and Phil never saw themselves taking when they were younger.Fortunately, they have each other, and that makes living on the streets a little better.---"I-I want to die h-happy," Dan replies, his brown eyes swimming with tears. "This- this isn't happy, Ph-Phil.""Happy does-doesn't exist for m-me," Phil replies flatly, "but I'm w-willing to give you a chance."***"Is this happy, Dan Howell?" Phil asks quietly."I don't know," Dan admits, "but it's not miserable, so it must count for something."---Based on the song "The A Team" by Ed Sheeran.





	The A Team

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up!  
> This work is... really fucking sad. Like, in case you couldn't tell from the tags, there's death and drugs and implied prostitution and suicide and it's just completely 110% angst.  
> You've been warned. 
> 
> Trigger warnings -  
> -Death of the natural sense.  
> -Homelessness.  
> -Drug usage/addiction.  
> -Implied prostitution.  
> -Suicide.  
> -All around sadness and pain and no happy ending this time.
> 
> \---
> 
> Much inspiration from Ed Sheeran's song "The A Team" and it's accompanying music video.

> _White lips, pale face / Breathing in snowflakes / Burnt lungs, sour taste / Light's gone, day's end / Struggling to pay rent / Long nights, strange men // Ripped gloves, raincoat / Tried to swim and stay afloat / Dry house, wet clothes / Loose change, bank notes / Weary-eyed, dry throat / Call girl, no phone // And they say / She's in the Class A Team / Stuck in her daydream / Been this way since eighteen / But lately her face seems / Slowly sinking, wasting / Crumbling like pastries / And they scream / The worst things in life come free to us / Cause we're just under the upper hand / And go mad for a couple grams / And she don't want to go outside tonight / And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland / Or sells love to another man / It's too cold outside / For angels to fly / An angel will die / Covered in white / Closed eye / And hoping for a better life / This time, we'll fade out tonight / Straight down the line // It's too cold outside / For angels to fly / Angels to fly / For angels to fly, to fly, to fly / For angels to die_

_~The A Team, Ed Sheeran (+, 2011)_

_•-•-•-•-•_

Phil shivers in the cold, his breath creating small clouds amidst the snowflakes. Dan's body presses closer against his own, both desperate for warmth.

"It's f-f-fucking freez-freezing out here," Dan stammers, his teeth chattering.

"S-sorry," Phil replies, pulling his knees closer to his body. "The sun- the sun will b-be up soon; it'll g-get warm-warmer."

"I wish- I wish we had-"

"Don't e-even go- go there," Phil warns, but he's thinking the exact same thing. 

"It would- would be m-more t-t-tolerable if I- if we weren't b-both going through f-fucking withdr-withdrawls," Dan chokes out. "J-just a coup- a couple grams."

"Do you h-have the money for that sh-shit?" Phil asks. The temperature feels like it just plummeted about twenty degrees. Phil shivers harder, wrapping an arm around Dan's shoulders and pulling him closer.

"Y-you blood-bloody well kn-know the answer is no," Dan replies, and even though Phil can't see his face, he knows he's glaring.

Drug addiction.

It's the one route Phil never saw himself taking, but here he is- without a job, a home or a purpose, all because he couldn't say no.

At least he has Dan.

They met in a park one day, several months ago. Something drew them together beyond their shared issues and predicaments. Phil agreed to protect Dan, and Dan agreed to have Phil's back.

Months later, that deal is still going strong.

The sun is rising, just barely, so Phil nudges Dan into a sitting position. The younger man grumbles under his breath, but stands up alongside Phil.

"C-come on," Phil says. "Time t-to start the day."

"F-fuck off," Dan replies, rubbing his arms. "We- we have to d-do someth-thing other than s-selling old newspa-papers."

"Like what?" Phil asks, shaking the snow out of his hair as he picks up an old stack of papers. They're all weeks old, no longer relevant, but they have no other choice.

"I hate- hate to be t-the one to s-say it, but-"

"No." Phil doesn't let Dan finish. "We are n-not doing _that._ "

"Ph-Phil, we are  _dying_ ," Dan argues. "Des-desperate times-"

"-c-call for desperate m-measures," Phil finishes, "b-but-"

"We have no choice," Dan spits out through gritted teeth. Phil looks him over tiredly.

Hollow eyes and chapped lips that hardly ever curl into a smile. Shaking hands and trembling limbs. Overgrown, tangled curls. A too-thin body disguised by layers of sweatshirts. The gaunt face and blank expression of an addict in withdrawal, the grim aura of someone who's close to death but still fighting.

Phil isn't any better.

Long, shaggy hair, now it's natural reddish-brown colour. Dull blue eyes behind glasses that have broken several times over and have an expired prescription from ages ago. Chapped lips, bloody from biting them and from the cold. Unhealthily pale skin and mobility problems due to frostbite.

"N-no one would want- would want us," Phil reasons.

"Wh-what do you sug-suggest, then?" Dan shouts. "We  _d-die?_ Because th-that's what's hap-happening!"

"Then m-maybe we should ac-accept it!" Phil shouts back. "I-if you want to g-go prostitute your-yourself, be my g-guest. I'm done."

"I-I want to die h-happy," Dan replies, his brown eyes swimming with tears. "This- this isn't happy, Ph-Phil."

"Happy does-doesn't exist for m-me," Phil replies flatly, "but I'm w-willing to give you a chance." His shaking hand intertwines with Dan's, albeit unsteadily, but it's the most comforting thing he could possibly have in that moment. Dan's chapped lips meet his cheek, and had Phil looked at him, he might have seen the tears streaming down his cheeks, glistening like ice in the early morning sun.

***

Dan opens a small bag of white powder, rolling up a joint expertly and lighting it before handing it to Phil. Even with the thing he so craves right in front of him, Dan cares for Phil first. Phil takes a long drag, his body relaxing. Dan does the same, leaning on Phil's shoulder.

"Is this happy, Dan Howell?" Phil asks quietly.

"I don't know," Dan admits, "but it's not miserable, so it must count for something."

"Do we die now?" Phil's words are barely audible. "Would this be dying happy?"

"No," Dan answers. "This would." His lips meet Phil's as he climbs into the older man's lap, Phil's free hand sliding beneath his layered shirts. Dan is ridiculously light- Phil can hardly feel his weight, but each of Dan's ribs sticks out prominently beneath his fingertips. Phil doesn't care, though; Dan is perfect the way he is. "I love you," Dan breathes, speaking against Phil's mouth.

"I love you too," Phil whispers as Dan moves back to the floor of this cold, abandoned building. It's warmer inside than outside, though. They sit in silence for what feels like hours, holding hands even long after the bag is completely emptied.

Phil supposes they must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he's aware of is the fact that Dan is slumped over, lying across his lap. He pokes the younger man gently, frowning at how cold his cheek is.

Dan doesn't stir, and after a moment the pieces click together.

_"Would this be dying happy?"_

_"No. This would."_

Dan knew he wouldn't make it through the night. Phil doesn't know how it works, but he's sure of that fact. He's not shocked. He's not horrified or disgusted or angry. If anything, he's... relieved. By dying, Dan finally gave Phil permission to give in, to give up and do the same. Carefully, Phil moves Dan's limp body to the floor, positioning his arms so they cross at the wrists above his chest. He gently kisses Dan's cold forehead.

Phil truly hopes that when Dan passed, he did so in a way that didn't hurt him. That he died in sleep, his hand still in Phil's as he left the wicked reality that so despised him.

"All the pretty stars shine for you, my love," Phil whispers. "May they continue to do so."

Phil steps into the windowsill, looking back at Dan. He appears restful in death, at peace in ways he never could while living. Phil hopes that whatever is on the other side, it's at least better than what is here. He takes a deep breath, looking once more over London as the sun barely clears the horizon, illuminating it in soft dawn light...

...and he lets himself fall forward.

**Author's Note:**

> That was slightly more... depressing than I remembered it being when I wrote it last night?
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> Hope you liked it anyway!
> 
> Started: January 26, 2018 (22:51 CST)  
> Finished: January 26, 2018 (23:43 CST)


End file.
